Trompe L'Oeil
by highlands girl
Summary: Ranger throws a birthday party for Stephanie and Joe is invited. Remember, things are not always as they seem. Babe HEA, of course.


Disclaimer: The characters belong to Janet Evanovich. I confess that I may be using them in a way she did not intend.

A/N: Many thanks to Dog in the Manger for her excellent beta skills on this story and her willingness to brainstorm with me about my crazy story ideas. All mistakes are mine. Hugs to Margaret. She wanted a story that included Angie and Grandma Bella. See additional note at the end. Yes, keep reading all the way to the end. Looks can be deceiving.

Torch Song:

A sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other or where one party has moved on….

_Adapted from Wikipedia_

**Morelli's POV**

I punched the unfamiliar address into the GPS of my Jeep Cherokee. Carl had said the club was _a bit of a drive from Trenton_, but as I pulled into the gravel parking lot, I thought "almost to Newark" would have been a more accurate description.

The party had started hours ago, and even after the long drive, I debated whether to actually go inside. The text of the invitation was fresh in my mind.

_Stephanie is turning 32! Let's celebrate with drinks and dancing!_

I tried not to read too much into the fact that the return address on the envelope had been Haywood. Nobody but Manoso would rent an entire club on a Saturday night just for a birthday party. Hell, for all I knew, he could have bought the club outright as a birthday gift for her. His housekeeper, Ella , probably took care of the invitations. The return address in no way proved that Steph had moved into Manoso's seventh floor apartment. Yeah, right.

I had let the invitation sit on my kitchen counter for two weeks without bothering to RSVP one way or the other. Finally, Stephanie sent me a text.

_You get the invitation? I have been promised a surprise. :) Please come._

I hadn't seen her in months, but the 'please' still worked on me.

As Bob and I sat on the couch, empty Pino's pizza box on the coffee table in front of us, I pondered what the surprise might be. Manoso finally bought her a Porsche of her own? The car was red, not black? I resolutely refused to consider surprises that came in smaller, ring-shaped boxes. After all, neither one of them was exactly the marrying kind. I had heard that from Stephanie often enough.

As I sat in the parking lot, I noticed Big Dog's truck. It was parked next to the Gazarras' minivan, in a virtual sea of black Ford Explorers. RangeMan was apparently out in full force tonight.

I'd driven all this way. Couldn't hurt to stay and have a beer, I reasoned with myself as I beeped the locks on the Jeep closed.

The club was in a nondescript, one-story brick building in a neighborhood populated with late 19th century factories and warehouses in various stages of gentrification. The guy at the door, _Binkie? Vince? They all looked alike to me, _waved me in. As I crossed the threshold, I heard salsa music and suddenly felt as though I had been transported to South Beach.

I crossed the room to the bar made of glass block and stainless steel.

"I'll take a Budweiser," I said to the bartender.

The kid smirked at me. "We have a fine selection of craft beers tonight, sir. What would you like?"

At a table across the room, I spotted Tank. He and Brown appeared to be drinking beer. Tank acknowledged me with a slight tilt of his head as he raised a bottle in my direction.

"I'll just have what they're having," I said wearily.

"The Surly Darkness or the Goose Island Night Stalker?" he asked.

I must have hesitated because he added, "They're both imperial stouts, sir… maybe a pale ale or a nice raspberry lager would be more to your liking?"

"Imperial stout is fine," I ground out. Beer is beer, after all. Surly Darkness would fit my mood. Almost as an afterthought, I asked him, "Manoso? What's he drinking?"

"Dark Warrior Ale?" he asked. _Fucking perfect_, I thought as the kid handed me a bottle.

Taking his wife's hand to lead her to the dance floor, Eddie Gazarra waved at me and motioned to an empty chair at his table. I slumped into the chair, glad to have the table to myself for a few minutes and relieved to not have to make small talk. Still, I was surprised that Eddie and Shirley knew how to dance the merengue. Their steps were hesitant at first, and then deliberate, like a couple practicing something that they had just learned. Before I could spend much time contemplating Eddie and Shirley in a dance class, my gaze landed on another couple that was anything but hesitant.

His right hand was pressed against the small of her back, his thumb gently teasing the bare skin there. Their hips swayed together in what appeared to be a _very _practiced motion as they moved as one across the dance floor. Steph's full red skirt swung away from her body and revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her long legs when Manoso dropped his hand from her waist and let her spin away from him. Of course, he didn't let her get too far away. No matter what, her right hand remained firmly clasped in his left and no matter how she moved, he never let go. With a familiar pang of regret, I wondered how things might have been had _I _never let go. Suddenly, and perhaps irrationally, I wondered if Bridget O'Hearn knew how to dance the merengue.

Nearly seven months ago, the blue-eyed red head had joined the District Attorney's office as an assistant prosecutor. One day, after court, she invited me to lunch. Over pastrami sandwiches, I gave her the lowdown on the players in the Trenton PD, the local attorneys and the judges she was likely to face.

Gradually, the conversation drifted into more personal topics. She liked to run… was there a nice park near the courthouse? There was a movie she wanted to see… which movie theater in Trenton was the nicest? She needed a haircut… did my girlfriend have a favorite salon? I was totally non-committal about the last question.

"I wouldn't know," I had said, neither confirming nor denying the existence of a girlfriend.

At that, Bridget had settled back in her chair and smiled at me. She had just moved to Trenton from Boston and was still unpacking. Could I come over Saturday and help move some heavy boxes from her garage up to her bedroom? She would make dinner, she promised. I confess: I wanted to accept that dinner invitation and whatever came after. Moreover, I wanted to do it guilt-free.

So that night, as Steph and I took Bob out for his evening walk, I had attempted to clarify the boundaries of our relationship.

"So," I began, "have you given any thought to a more traditional sort of arrangement between us?"

"Traditional?" She had stopped mid-block and stared at me through narrowed eyes.

"You know," I had offered conversationally. "Rings, holiday dinners with our parents at our place, babies-" I did want those things with Stephanie someday, I really did. I just didn't want them until I had some time to explore things with the lovely Counselor O'Hearn.

"I'm just not a traditional sort of girl. Maybe I won't ever be," she had told me quietly.

"Then for now, I guess we are both free to see other people, if the opportunity comes along?" On the outside, I had tried to look disappointed, while on the inside, my libido had shouted 'yes!'

"I guess that's right," she had replied. As I thought back to that night, _she_ hadn't looked disappointed. She had looked… relieved.

Six weeks later, Bridget was dating New Jersey's Lieutenant Governor and night after night, Steph's car was missing from the parking lot outside her apartment. Dillon, the building superintendent, had finally noticed my midnight visits and told me that while Steph's rent had been paid through the end of her lease, she and Rex were currently staying 'with a friend.'

I suspected that meant Haywood. I had tried to catch Stephanie at the bonds office, but Connie told me she didn't stop by very often, not since she had started working fulltime at RangeMan. Apparently, she had given up being a bounty hunter shortly after she had given up _me_. As I watched her and Manoso dance tonight, I noticed, with only a hint of satisfaction, that the fourth finger on her left hand was still bare. It was a woefully inadequate consolation prize to know that my Cupcake hadn't turned into a traditional kind of girl with someone else.

As the song ended, Manoso wrapped both of his arms around our girl and held her close. She laid her head on his shoulder, but immediately straightened up when she noticed me sitting alone at Gazarra's table. She and Manoso seemed to have some sort of silent conversation that ended with him nodding and giving her an uncharacteristic smile… at least, what passed for a smile with him. After a quick brush of his lips against hers, he gave her a nudge in my direction. I didn't need ESP to know exactly what he was thinking. _I can afford to be gracious. After she talks to you, she's coming right back to me._

I stood as Steph approached the table and we shared an awkward hug. "Joe. You're here!" I was careful not to let my hands linger too long on the exposed skin of her shoulders.

She touched my arm and I could see the concern in her eyes. "It means a lot to me that you came tonight. The last six months can't have been easy for you… I know you and your mom were close."

Six months ago, my mother had collapsed while doing her weekly shopping at Giovincchini's. Paramedics had arrived on the scene within minutes and transported her to St. Francis. Ultimately, their efforts were in vain. Angie Morelli was pronounced dead twenty minutes after arrival, the victim of a massive coronary.

Steph tightened her grip on my arm. "And of course, we were all shocked by what happened to Grandma Bella."

My grandmother's health had deteriorated rapidly after my mother's death and Anthony and I reluctantly moved her to the Sacred Heart Retirement Home.

"It wasn't like that," I protested.

"Of course," Steph murmured reassuringly. "No one put any stock in those crazy rumors anyway. I mean, I've never really thought that spontaneous combustion could actually happen."

Grandma Bella had tried to put the evil eye on Rose Giovincchini, as retribution of sorts for my mother's untimely demise in the Giovincchini family business. Rose had given the evil eye right back to her, resulting in a fiery explosion… or so the story went.

"They both had oxygen tanks strapped to their wheelchairs. Rose was rumored to sneak a cigarette whenever she had the chance. It was a freak accident." My tone sounded a little defensive, even to my ears.

Before she could respond, Tank stepped up onto a small stage and grabbed a microphone. "In honor of Stephanie's birthday, we have a special guest in the house tonight. Put your hands together and welcome Miss Memphis Grace Devine."

Steph gave me an apologetic smile and slipped away to rejoin Manoso on the opposite side of the room.

Amid enthusiastic applause and few whoops from the audience, Tank stepped off the stage and seated himself at a baby grand piano that I had somehow failed to notice earlier.

He coaxed the first notes of an old Frank Sinatra torch song from the ivory keys. Before long, they were joined by the mournful notes of a saxophone, and Tank was replaced on stage by one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Strappy FMPs aside, I could tell that she was tall… six feet maybe? A shimmery, copper-colored evening gown covered most of her light caramel-colored skin, but it was obvious that the dress hid the well-toned body of an athlete. Runner, I wondered? Swimmer? She seemed to scan the room for a moment, while she waited for the right note.

When she turned and I caught a good look at her face, I barely suppressed a gasp. The girl Tank called Memphis had the most incredible eyes… and they weren't blue. From beneath a fringe of dark bangs, she looked at me with sparkling, emerald green eyes. And then she started singing in a voice that was smooth and smoky and sweet, all at the same time.

_I love you oh so madly _

_I need your love so badly _

Memphis locked eyes with Manoso and gave him a sexy smile. She stepped off the stage into the audience and seemed to glide in his direction. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he waved her off. Her lips turned up slightly and she gave him a small shrug that that caused her long black hair to slip over her shoulders seductively.

She turned away from Manoso but didn't go far. Instead, she slowly trailed the perfectly manicured, scarlet nail of her index finger across Steph's bare back as she sang.

_I thought at last I had found you _

_But other arms surround you _

Steph's eyes widened in surprise and she shivered. That only seemed to encourage Memphis, who pivoted around Steph to rest her ass on the table so the two women were face to face.

_If you'd surrender just for _

_A tender kiss or two _

_You might discover that _

_I'm the lover meant for you_

Now without a doubt, Steph had always been energetic in the bedroom. But adventurous? Not so much. I waited for her to blush and turn away from the other woman… but she didn't. She stared at Memphis and nervously licked her bottom lip.

That was all the encouragement the green-eyed woman needed. She leaned over and planted a long, open-mouthed kiss on Steph's lips. It was surprising… and unbelievably hot. Manoso was one lucky bastard if he ended up with both of them in his bed tonight. Maybe that had been his plan all along. I tugged at my jeans, trying to surreptitiously create a little more room.

I finally snuck a glance at Manoso, figuring he was in way worse shape than I was. Hell, he was probably panting by now. Instead, the stupid fucker looked… annoyed. Tank, on the other hand, looked… amused? I would have given that more thought if Memphis hadn't slid off Steph's table at exactly that moment and headed across the room. It took a moment to register that she was moving directly toward me. My breath caught, as she stopped next to me and I could smell her perfume, faint hints of ginger, sandalwood and white chocolate. I wanted to get closer, just to inhale a bit more of her scent and fortunately, she obliged. It turned into an experience I don't think I'll ever forget.

As she sang the final verse of the song, she sank down next to me, letting her tongue glide over the shell of my ear.

_So what's the good of all my scheming? _

_I know I must be dreaming _

She steadied herself with a hand placed high on my thigh. Her scarlet fingernails scraped against the denim.

_For I don't stand a _

_Ghost of a chance with you_

"I don't think that's true," I managed to force out in a hoarse voice, just as the last notes from the piano faded away. "Can I see you again? I really want to see you again."

Miss Memphis Grace Devine smiled at me and I swear to God she winked.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

I searched the room for her, to no avail. Tank gave me a palms up, 'sorry, haven't seen her' gesture. The bartender gave me a pitying look and offered me a Sweetwater Happy Ending imperial stout. I downed it gratefully and headed for my Jeep without saying goodbye to anyone. I didn't realize at the time that I had failed to wish Steph a happy birthday.

If I had bothered to glance in my rearview mirror as I left the lot, I would have noticed the sign, blinking relentlessly, on the roof of the club. The pink and green neon letters spelled out 'Babe.'

**Another POV**

The club was mostly empty now and Stephanie was snuggled in Ranger's lap, planting kisses along his collarbone.

"Thank you for making my birthday special," she told him as him as she played with the buttons of his crisp, white shirt.

"What about me, Chica? Did I make your birthday special?"

I was sitting next to Steph and Ranger in the mostly empty club. Tank was at the piano again, playing bits of old jazz tunes. I had kicked off my FMPs and my lipstick needed a touch-up, but I was pretty sure I could still pull this off. I ran my fingers through my long black hair in what I hoped was an alluring manner. Seconds later, the wig of silky hair was in my lap and Steph was laughing at me.

"Keep your lips away from my wife, Santos," my cousin admonished. His tone was firm but I saw the faint upturning of his lips and the crinkles around his eyes. My Bad Ass cousin was uncharacteristically happy and even I was having trouble getting a rise out of him tonight. He reached out and grasped Stephanie's left hand gently, holding it up so the light from bar illuminated the diamond ring that he had slipped onto her finger just after midnight."

"She's not your wife… yet," I told him.

"Technicality," he replied. "She will be soon. Maybe we'll fly to Vegas tonight and make it official."

When Ranger finally made up his mind, he was resolute. This was true in battle. This was true in business. Apparently, it was also true in his relationship with Stephanie Plum.

Beautiful just rolled her eyes at him, but I noticed that she didn't let go of his hand. "You were awesome, Lester. I really didn't believe Tank and Ranger when they told me about you dressing in drag and singing at a club in Miami the night before you joined the Army."

"It was just a one time thing. I did it as a gag after they dared me," I explained. What cocky eighteen year-old could refuse a dare on the eve of Basic Training? When Steph asked me to reprise the role for her birthday, I couldn't say no, even though I knew that waxing was going to hurt like a bitch, just like the first time. None of us had ever been able to tell her no.

"It was just your face and your legs," she reminded me. "Just think if you had to wax… down there." She glanced in the direction of her lap and I think my cousin may have moaned a little bit.

"You have an amazing voice," she continued. "Where did you learn to sing like that?"

Ranger made a strangled noise. From anyone else, it might have sounded like an attempt to suppress hysterical laughter, but I'm pretty sure the most lethal sniper in Rangers' history didn't do hysterical laughter, at least not anymore.

"Choir boy," he managed to choke out. Stephanie patted his back and for a moment she looked concerned.

"Careful, Carlito," I warned him. "You have secrets too."

"Memphis Grace?" Beautiful asked me, as her fiancé tried to compose himself with a drink of sparkling water. The question elicited another snort from Ranger.

"Grace is short for Graceland," I said a little sheepishly. "Elvis rocks."

She nodded her agreement and then she changed the subject. "I can't believe you teased Joe that way. I bet he was pissed."

"I don't like to argue with the birthday girl, but the bulge in his jeans said otherwise."

"Joe left so suddenly, I didn't even get to ask him what he thought about my birthday surprise."

I smiled at her, remembering the way he had looked at me as he whispered, "Can I see you again? I really want to see you again." I imagined the cop in his bed in that little house in the 'Burg. Alone. Lonely. Horny. No doubt, he was thinking about the girl with the emerald green eyes. When he pleaded, she had shushed him with a finger placed gently against his lips. "I'll be there… in your dreams."

_On the new Magnetic Fields CD, there is a song called 'Andrew in Drag.' _You can find it on YouTube. _It inspired this story. I Don't Stand A Ghost of a Chance with You was composed by Victor Young in 1932 with lyrics cowritten by Ned Washington and Bing Crosby._


End file.
